Mahmoud Darwish

(13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008 / Palestinian)

Mahmoud Darwish Poems

1. Other Berbers Will Come 4/16/2014
2. Psalm Four 4/15/2014
3. Neighing At The Slope 4/15/2014
4. Cadence Chooses Me 4/15/2014
5. A Song And The Sultan 4/15/2014
6. Mohammed Al Durra 4/15/2014
7. Pride And Fury 4/16/2014
8. Intensive Care Unit 4/16/2014
9. In Egypt, One Hour Isn'T Like Any Other 4/15/2014
10. Brand Of Slaves 9/7/2013
11. The Horse Fell Off The Poem 9/3/2013
12. On A Day Like This 4/14/2014
13. And They Don'T Ask… 4/15/2014
14. If I Were Someone Else On The Road... 4/15/2014
15. Slain And Unknown… 4/15/2014
16. No Flag Flutters In The Wind 4/14/2014
17. A Noun Sentence 4/14/2014
18. If I Were Another 9/3/2013
19. He Embraces His Murderer 4/16/2014
20. As He Walks Away 4/16/2014
21. Psalm Two 4/15/2014
22. The Promise Of Liberty 4/16/2014
23. Mural 9/3/2013
24. The Cypress Broke 9/3/2013
25. Your Night Is Of Lilac 9/3/2013
26. Nostalgia To The Light 10/28/2013
27. I Didn'T Apologize To The Well… 4/15/2014
28. On A Canaaite Rock At The Dead Sea 4/16/2014
29. Bread 4/16/2014
30. Another Day Will Come 4/15/2014
31. Who Am I, Without Exile? 9/3/2013
32. Earth Presses Against Us 4/15/2014
33. Remainder Of A Life 4/16/2014
34. Promises Of The Storm 4/15/2014
35. A Man And A Fawn Play Together In A Garden… 4/15/2014
36. The Owl's Night 4/15/2014
37. He Is Quiet And So Am I 4/15/2014
38. Defiance 4/15/2014
39. The Pigeons Fly 4/15/2014
40. I Remember Elsayyab… 4/15/2014
Best Poem of Mahmoud Darwish

I Come From There

I come from there and I have memories
Born as mortals are, I have a mother
And a house with many windows,
I have brothers, friends,
And a prison cell with a cold window.
Mine is the wave, snatched by sea-gulls,
I have my own view,
And an extra blade of grass.
Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words,
And the bounty of birds,
And the immortal olive tree.
I walked this land before the swords
Turned its living body into a laden table.
I come from there. I render the sky unto her mother
When the sky weeps for her mother.
And I weep ...

Read the full of I Come From There

The Dice Player

Who am I to say to you
what I say to you?
I was not a stone polished by water
and became a face
nor was I a cane punctured by the wind
and became a flute...

I am a dice player,
Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose

[Hata Bildir]